CD reviews
Issue date: 12/14/04 Section: Arts & Entertainment
Lindsay Lohan
Speak
Most of you don't know me personally, but if you did, you'd know that I am a Lindsay Lohan fan of great magnitude.
Most of the people who do know me like to point out that my Lohan fixation is downright creepy, given the fact that I am some six years her senior. My significant other tolerates my Lohan-love with a sort of eye-rolling bemusement, although a lesser woman would probably dump me and kick me firmly in the junk.
That said, as much as I'm entranced by Lohan's cute smile, buxom frame and hilarious performance in Mean Girls, I can't ignore the fact that this album is completely friggin' awful. Now, I realize I'm not a 13-year-old girl, and therefore not this album's target audience, but I really don't think anyone could tolerate listening to this dreck unless they were reviewing it, and even then, it's hurting me.
If you were to take Avril Lavigne's self-pitying, woe-is-me, faux-angsty whine and combine it with Britney's cleavage-filled grindfest, but take away Avril's undeniable, seemingly authentic spunk and Britney's irresistible danceability, you would be getting close to replicating the horror that is Speak.
As hard as it may be to believe, the Britney-inspired dance floor grind of a single "Rumours" is actually the album's best song. It's the sort of jam no one wants to cop to liking, but gets you moving in spite of yourself. Unfortunately, it comes at the end of the album, by which time I was only capable of moving towards my Vicodin drawer.
When Lindsay does bass-heavy dance-pop, like the aforementioned "Rumours" and "To Know Your Name," she's actually pretty likable. It's not ground breaking, but it's fun. The problem is that she spends most of the album doing a sort of Avril-esque whiny, energy-free light rock. It plods at a snails pace, allows her to annunciate every generic, mindless lyric and make it profoundly clear that her voice has been Pro-Tooled all to fuck.
If Ms. Lohan's handlers had half a brain, they would have done the smart thing, hired Lil' Jon, the Neptunes, and Paul Oakenfold and made some funky throwaway dance tunes. Instead they tired to front like she had some integrity as a singer and made the worst album ever. (Casablanca/Universal)
Speak
Most of you don't know me personally, but if you did, you'd know that I am a Lindsay Lohan fan of great magnitude.
Most of the people who do know me like to point out that my Lohan fixation is downright creepy, given the fact that I am some six years her senior. My significant other tolerates my Lohan-love with a sort of eye-rolling bemusement, although a lesser woman would probably dump me and kick me firmly in the junk.
That said, as much as I'm entranced by Lohan's cute smile, buxom frame and hilarious performance in Mean Girls, I can't ignore the fact that this album is completely friggin' awful. Now, I realize I'm not a 13-year-old girl, and therefore not this album's target audience, but I really don't think anyone could tolerate listening to this dreck unless they were reviewing it, and even then, it's hurting me.
If you were to take Avril Lavigne's self-pitying, woe-is-me, faux-angsty whine and combine it with Britney's cleavage-filled grindfest, but take away Avril's undeniable, seemingly authentic spunk and Britney's irresistible danceability, you would be getting close to replicating the horror that is Speak.
As hard as it may be to believe, the Britney-inspired dance floor grind of a single "Rumours" is actually the album's best song. It's the sort of jam no one wants to cop to liking, but gets you moving in spite of yourself. Unfortunately, it comes at the end of the album, by which time I was only capable of moving towards my Vicodin drawer.
When Lindsay does bass-heavy dance-pop, like the aforementioned "Rumours" and "To Know Your Name," she's actually pretty likable. It's not ground breaking, but it's fun. The problem is that she spends most of the album doing a sort of Avril-esque whiny, energy-free light rock. It plods at a snails pace, allows her to annunciate every generic, mindless lyric and make it profoundly clear that her voice has been Pro-Tooled all to fuck.
If Ms. Lohan's handlers had half a brain, they would have done the smart thing, hired Lil' Jon, the Neptunes, and Paul Oakenfold and made some funky throwaway dance tunes. Instead they tired to front like she had some integrity as a singer and made the worst album ever. (Casablanca/Universal)
